


Working Boys

by therunawaypen



Series: Sherlock Tumblr Prompt Fills [46]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Assassin John, Assassins & Hitmen, Dark Sherlock, M/M, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therunawaypen/pseuds/therunawaypen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Murder and the dark criminal underworld are just another day at the office when one works for Jim Moriarty. John "Doctor Death" Watson has turned his medical knowledge into an assassin's weapon. It's dirty work, but a working boy does what he has to.</p><p>But hardworking John can't stand the boss's arm candy, Sherlock Holmes. When John is up to his elbows in blood, Sherlock is sipping champagne with the boss and never wants for anything.</p><p>Sherlock isn't much of a fan of John's either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. I have a prompt. Sherlock and John both work for Moriarty, John as a sniper and Sherlock as Moriarty’s arm candy. They both hate each other. Thanks! — itsrachsimpson
> 
> Hey. I have a prompt! John and Sherlock both work for Moriarty. John is an assassin and Sherlock is Jim’s ‘toy boy’. They hate each other because Sherlock’s a spoilt brat and gets everything he ever wants an John has to work hard for the things he has. Thank you! :) —anon

Contrary to popular belief, it isn’t that hard to kill someone. If you know the right way to do it. And John Watson knew all the right ways to do it. It was all about understanding what the human body could withstand and what it took to push it too far.

Sure, a simple bullet to the head was always clean and effective, but sometimes the best murder was the one that no one believed was a murder.

Take John’s most recent mark, for example. He was a Chief Superintendent for the police, and he was pushing a little too hard to investigate one of the boss’s operations. Thus, he needed to die. Now John always liked to do a little research on his targets, it helped him learn the best way to go about killing them. And lo and behold, the CS had several prescriptions he was taking, including several that reacted violently to anything fermented: no wine or beer for this target.

Though how could the poor target know if someone (John) spiked his daily glass of cranberry juice with balsamic vinegar (also fermented)?

And all Doctor Death (as the boss would call him, much to John’s annoyance) had to do now was wait. John was watching the CS having brunch at a local café when the man finally keeled over, clutching his chest. The former army captain watched through the entire chaotic scene, from the patrons giving the man CPR to the arrival of the ambulance to rush the CS to the hospital. Now all John had to do was go to the hospital to confirm the man’s death.

And he was about to leave when a black car pulled up next to him at the curb. John knew better than to ignore the car, so without prompting, he opened the door and slid into the back seat. Only to bite back a groan when he saw who was sitting next to him. “What are you doing here, Holmes?”

The man in question didn’t even look at John, simply smoothing the imaginary creases from his suit, “I imagine I’m here wondering why it has taken you so long to take out a simple target.” He replied, checking his manicure.

“He’s dead, I’m on my way to confirm the death myself.” John bit back a curse. There were some days (read: most days) in which John desperately wanted to strangle Sherlock Holmes. He was arrogant, rude, lazy, and he was the boss’s favorite. Honestly, John had no idea what Holmes did that made the boss so happy (no doubt it was something on his knees or on his back), but the boss showered the man in whatever he wanted while the rest of them had to work for a living.

“Please try to contain yourself, I can practically feel your loathing from here.” Sherlock shook his head, opening the car door, “Now why don’t you be a good trigger man and go make sure your victim didn’t survive?”

There were a hundred things John wanted to say to Sherlock, but he knew he couldn’t do anything without risking the boss’s wrath, “Of course…”

Sherlock stepped out of the car, leaving the driver to escort John to the hospital. It was only when the car was out of view that Sherlock turned, making his way to the very café in which John had been observing moments before. The staff were still trying to recover from the panic that had occurred in the minutes before, so they didn’t pay Sherlock any mind as he made his way to the corner booth. “I see your guest hasn’t arrived yet.” He drawled lowly, sinking into the plush seat next to his…benefactor.

A smirk spread across Jim Moriarty’s face as he took in Sherlock’s appearance, “The new suit looks good on you. Remind me to not kill that tailor.” He replied, “As for our guest…I imagine the show spooked him a bit…the Doctor does have a thing for timing.”

If there was one thing Sherlock hated, it was sharing Jim’s attention, “Don’t talk about him.” Sherlock muttered, sliding in close to Jim.

“Why Sherlock, is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket,” Jim nearly grinned, “Or are you just happy to see me?”

Sherlock smirked, leaning in to nibble Jim’s ear, “Why can’t it be both?” He allowed his hand to wander up Jim’s thigh in a tantalizing motion.

Jim chuckled, “Down Sherlock,” He leered, “Daddy’s trying to work.”

The taller man paid him no mind, continuing his teasing, “Well so am I.” He replied cheekily.


	2. Chapter 2

John knew he was being followed, as he snaked his way through the various back alleys of London. He wasn’t being entirely stealthy as he took turn after turn. But then again, that was the point.

Moriarty had known about a rival crime syndicate who seemed to have designs to try and get their hands on Moriarty through any means necessary. Well, that just wouldn’t do. So it was time to send in Doctor Death, to send a very pointed message to the would-be kidnappers.

So while the men following John might have thought they were being led to Moriarty’s headquarters, in reality, they were being led to their deaths.

It was almost too easy, John mused to himself as he took another turn. He was almost at the correct location: out of the way enough that no one would stumble across the bodies in the dark of the night, but not secluded enough to alert his intended targets of any impending danger. As John arrived at the designated kill zone, he stopped, listening to the sound of footsteps approaching. No doubt he would be confronted by the enemy grunts soon enough, and then it would be time for the real work to start. A hand reached silently to his waist, gripping his gun in its holster.

To say John was shocked when, as he turned to shoot the first attacker, he found one Sherlock Holmes at the end of his gun would have an understatement. It damn near gave John a heart attack, “Holmes!” He hissed, lowering the gun quickly, “What the hell are you doing here? You could have gotten yourself shot!” And no doubt it wouldn’t have ended well for John if he shot the boss’s boy toy.

Holmes smirked, “I doubt that, your control is much better than to needlessly shoot me.” He looked down, inspecting his manicure no doubt, “And I wanted to make sure you were following through with boss’s orders.”

John blinked, “You came down here…to…” he let out an irritated groan, “You are a _bloody_ idiot.”

The next few seconds were a bit of a blur for John. Then again, that was normal for John when he was killing, and shooting the two goons that were just beyond Holmes’s shoulders was no exception. And to John’s irritation, Holmes didn’t flinch once to having a gun fired over his shoulder. Even more irritating was the fact that he was wearing that _damn amused smirk_. “Did you honestly just call me an idiot?”

“Honestly, of course.” John grit his teeth, “You don’t just _show up_ in the middle of one of my jobs. I could have killed those two men much faster without having to worry about you.”

Another shot rang out in that secluded alley, making John jolt. At first he wondered if Holmes had shot him for his insolence, considering the fact that Holmes had somehow drawn a gun without John noticing (something that shocked him in and of itself). But realizing he was not bleeding or going into shock, coupled with the sounds of a falling body behind John, convinced the assassin that he was not the one whom Holmes had shot.

“Three men.” Holmes corrected, slipping the gun back into his jacket pocket. And damn him if he didn’t look just as well cut as if he hadn’t just killed a man. “I do suggest you continue your work here, Doctor Watson. Jim—” Damn if Holmes didn’t look so smug at referring to their boss by his first name, “has a very specific message he wants sent.” He turned, making his way out of the alley.

“And what would that be?” John frowned, refusing to give the other man the satisfaction of seeing him flustered.

Holmes looked over his shoulder at John, giving him one last smirk and a cheeky wink, “ _Hands off._ ”

With that, Sherlock Holmes left Doctor Death to finish his job, walking from the alley back to the main street, where a car was waiting for him. There was always a car waiting for Sherlock.

Getting comfortable in the back seat of the car, Sherlock pulled out his phone.

_I trust that your…meeting went well? –SH_

There were no “meetings” with Jim Moriarty, but both men liked to play with the idea that Jim ran his criminal empire like a business. It ran a hell of a lot better than a majority of businesses in the world.

_I think it went rather well. We should send your brother a gift basket as a thank you. –JM_

Sherlock wrinkled his nose, trying not to think of whatever Mycroft might have done to warrant a thank you from _his_ Jim. Granted, he tried not to think of his brother at all.

_I should think that a giant cake, or a certain pesky Detective Inspector bound and gagged in his bed, would do nicely… -SH_

_How devious of you…how is my darling doing? –JM_

Smirking, Sherlock carefully typed out his reply.

_I’ve been a terribly naughty boy…-SH_


End file.
